


Story Time

by indigorose50



Series: Indigowallbreaker's Lazytown Prompts [122]
Category: LazyTown
Genre: Family Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Siblings, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-05-02 16:22:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14548668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigorose50/pseuds/indigorose50
Summary: Prompt: Sport is Ithro's baby brother, and whenever he was sick as a child, Ithro tended to him. Now, it’s Ithro that’s sick and Sport has to take care of him. (For added angst, Ithro could be so out of his mind with fever that he doesn’t recognize Sportacus as an adult.)





	Story Time

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! It's my one year anniversary doing Lazytown prompts on AO3! :D Thank you all for your support this year. You're the best <3

It’s a known fact that Big Brothers Don’t Get Sick. They don’t. It’s just not something they do. They’re too strong.

So when Sportacus got a letter from home saying Íþróttaálfurinn had a fever, he said his goodbyes and took off from Lazytown within the hour. 

“He’s fine, Sportacus,” his mother said when he got home. Behind her, his father was wrapping a rag around some snow.

“Let me do it.” Sportacus held out his hand for the snow. His father handed it to him and Sportacus made a beeline for his brother’s room.

Of course, it hadn’t been Íþró’s room for almost a decade now. It was the Spare Guest Room. Sportacus’ own room was well on its way to the same fate. 

There Íþró lay nonetheless, the covers tucked to his bearded chin, hat hanging on the bedpost. On the nightstand beside him was a small bowl of soup that didn’t look as though it had been touched. 

A hand on his shoulder made Sportacus turn around. “See if you can get him to eat,” his father said, eyes on Íþró. “He hasn’t eaten in two days.”

Sportacus nodded and made his way over to the bed. He placed the snowy rag in Íþró’s forehead, almost jumping with how hot his brother’s face felt. Íþró blinked sluggishly. “F... Faðir?” He squinted up at Sportacus. 

“No, Íþró, it’s me.” Sportacus sat on the stool beside the bed, one hand keeping the rag in place. “It’s Sportacus.”

“Sportacus... he’s away being a hero. He wouldn’t be... here.”

Sportacus felt himself smile. “I can be a hero at home too.”

Íþró blinked a bit more. His eyes clear up slightly. “Oh. Hello,  _litla hálfviti_.”

“How do you feel? Better or worse than the time you almost caught hypothermia getting me out of that frozen lake?”

Íþró furrowed his brows, “It’s a... different kind of worse.” A smile lit his pained face. “I remember that. You thought you saw something under the lake... and you went out to look. And got stuck.” 

“And then you followed me but cracked the ice even more. You slid me across the lake to Faðir like a hockey puck.”

Íþró chuckled weakly. “Tell me more stories, Sportacus,” he muttered as his eyes slipped shut. 

Sportacus tapped him lightly on the cheek. “I will if you have some soup.”

Grumbling, Íþró pushed himself up until he was close to a sitting position and reached for the bowl. His hand shook with the effort. Sportacus bat the hand away. “Let me.” 

He was able to get a good few spoonfuls in before Íþró settled back against the bed once more. “Another story, please,” he said.

Sportacus hummed in thought, a mischievous smirking appearing. “Okay— remember the time you tried asking Brynjar to the honey festival?”

“Any story  _except_ that one.” 


End file.
